Gimme a drink
by WitchingWeatherWitch
Summary: Somehow Harry and the Dark Lord end up in a pub together. Too bad that Voldemort has a low tolerance for alcohol.


_Note:_ I have written this story to practice my English and would be grateful if you pointed out any mistakes you may find. Furthermore I'm thinking about writing some kind of sequel, since I've been asked to do so. If you too are interested, please let me know.

 _Disclaimer:_ All credit to J.K.R. and her associates.

Gimme a drink

"You know, Potter, you're not so bad when alive. Not bad at all," Voldemort all but slurred while lifting his last glass of Firewhiskey. At any rate that's what Harry decided this very moment; the Dark Lord was rat-arsed for life so there was no need for another glass.

"Why, Marvolo, same goes for you." Who would have guessed that you could get on good terms with a megalomaniac by simply stopping calling him things he didn't like. At least Marvolo was the name of Voldemorts pureblooded grandfather, so the git didn't mind this appellation.

Watching his nemesis down the rest of his drink with slow gulps that made his Adam's apple jump up and down, Harry suppressed an impish grin. Believe it or not, but it took him only half a bottle of the strongest Firewhiskey in this pub to drive his greatest enemy into a state where he laughed about Muggle jokes. Of course Harry never imagined Voldemort to be a party snake, still, it took him by surprise. Maybe this ... mhmm ... new body of his needed some consecration. Or defilement.

"I've got a room up here. Wanna see it?" Harry asked innocently enough for a drunk to miss the one and only meaning behind this statement. Voldemort looked thoughtful for a moment then he shrugged and nodded in one move. Harry's face lit up. "Great! Let me help you up." Standing, he moved around the small table and reached for the man's arm to haul him up. Voldemort staggered a bit, but Harry had him in an unrelenting grip and started navigating his gorgeous prey to the stairs.

"I've always wondered how the Light resided, especially the hero himself," the Dark Lord babbled. "I hope it isn't some kind of elaborated trap, 'cause otherwise I have to kill you on the spot. You see, there's no way anyone can destroy or damage me, since I'm the Dark Lord."

A guest, who was passing them by, suddenly froze and stared stricken at the strange couple he didn't recognised. Harry had combed his fringe to hide his scar and Voldemort was his old sexy self with stunning dark eyes and black-brown hair. Tall, broad-shouldered and completely at Harry Potters mercy.

"Don't mind him, he's an awful drunk," Harry explained and quickly got his companion into his room and onto the bed. "Time for some fun, Marvolo," he grinned and took in the inviting sight of the man stretching obliviously on the dark sheets.

How he managed to blunder into this situation?

Well, after the discovery of Felix Felicis in sixth year and the fact that Harry was reeeally fed up with Dumbledore, the press and Death Eaters in general, he had decided to shorten things up. With the help of his handy potions book he brewed another _liquid luck_ in the Room of Requirement and waited for school term to end. After a week or two of utter boredom at his relative's, he had carried out his plan by drinking the whole flask.

Slipping out and accidentally running into Voldemort in Knockturn Alley had been a piece of cake after that. The Dark Lord had been undercover in search for some rare potions ingredients for his, admittedly, bashing hair. When he saw Harry, he had been so shocked that he tripped and fell onto the pavement. Then his hair had fallen into his eyes, the sun had blinded and a passenger had bumped him. Finally he had hit his brilliant head on a shop sign (the evil bastard was really tall) and his wand slipped out of his hand before he passed out cold. All of this had happened even before Harry could draw his own wand and point it at the other man. That had been the good part of Felix Felicis. Or maybe Voldemort had a bad day all by himself.

The actually not so good part followed when Harry's luck-drugged body didn't think it necessary to rid the world off the evil git. Instead, he had condemned the other wizard's wand and made sure the sleeping beauty had no other means to escape his company. Then he had called him back to life. Voldemort had been speechless at first, so Harry used the opportunity to silver tongue him to a drink at a nice inn. Since he was disarmed, Voldemort had to follow suit and listen to Harry's persuasive speeches about life, fun and sex. The liquid luck didn't want him to start off with politics or the meaning of love. Not directly.

After two drinks the Dark Lord had begun to contribute to the one-sided conversation and soon they were sharing some inside jokes (the colour of Lucius' underwear; Hermione's obsession with greasy hair) and indeed, even more secrets (the cupboard under the stairs, the orphanage and the war in the past). Harry had been gobsmacked to learn all these private details from the perspective of the Dark Lord and made the first deliberate decision of the day: he would get to know Marvolo better. First physically and afterwards in any other means possible.

That's why he didn't waste time now that this amazing man was lying defencelessly in front of him.

Further thoughts would be contained for later.


End file.
